In Pieces
by AJ Rayne
Summary: Post series, Pre Shamballa. Riza tries to put her Colonel back together but finds that once again, she's too late to save him. And this time, it's from himself.
1. With Only Angst for Company

**1 – With Only Angst for Company **

It was strange being back in his apartment again.

It was quiet.

Dark.

Lonely.

There were no paws padding softly on shiny wood floors.

No faint scent of shampoo or clean laundry.

The memory of Riza's complete lack of girly things made him smile. Her soaps and shampoo simply smelled...clean. He'd spied some perfume in the medicine cabinet, but she didn't use it while he was there. He'd been amused that her place didn't smell like gun cleaner, like he'd initially expected. Instead, it just smelled...clean. Fresh. Like the way he used to be.

Even when she hadn't been home, he'd had Black Hayate for company as well as the easy comfort of being in Riza's Fortress of Solitude. Being surrounded by her things, the few that there was, gave him the sense of being in unfamiliar familiar territory, and he'd needed that: the stimuli of not being completely at home, but still able to trust that here he could be safe. It had kept his mind from the things that threatened to make him reach for one of her guns and do what he'd tried to do in Ishbal years before.

When she'd come home at night, they would eat dinner and sometimes talked or sometimes didn't. They had just needed the nearness of each other, but inevitably, when the night deepened, they would retreat to their corners.

She didn't talk about what had happened and neither did he.

His broken dreams, and the broken lives that had lined that path to nowhere. The broken neck of that boy. The broken family his friend had left behind.

Her failure to be there when he needed her the most, and the failure to bring to fruition a dream for which she'd sacrificed her years and her morals. The failure to protect the young boy who'd tried to make things right again. The failure to fix what her Colonel had broken.

They'd lived in a strange limbo that was comfortable for them both, a place where he was free of his guilt and regrets, and she was free of hers.

When two weeks turned into one month, Roy decided it was time to stop depending on her. She hadn't argued, but he could see that she wasn't happy about his leaving. They packed his things, and he'd noticed that he'd managed to spread his things around as if he'd lived there. But she'd noticed. She'd known where everything was.

So he was back in his dark and lonely apartment, drowning in his quiet, and fighting back his waking nightmares.

One month of thinking he could go back to the way he was.

One month of wishing they were other people somewhere else.

It had been cruel to lie to himself like that. The second he'd shut the door to his apartment, it was as if that month hadn't happened. He saw the flames, felt the slice of the sword, and heard the snapping of the child's neck.

His bags were where he'd left them. His coat was still on, and he was at his desk, slumped in the chair. The place where he'd concocted his _brilliant _plans.

The empty glass of bourbon teased him. The empty bottle mocked him. He could almost hear Hughes telling him to just suck it up and go to her, but even if he were to do that, he doubted his legs could carry him to the door.

The door.

There was knocking at the door.

Roy stumbled and swore when he smashed his shin into the coffee table. It hadn't moved since he was here last, but he also saw less than he did last.

The door opened before he could get there and she hesitated where she stood, his key in her hand, when she saw the state he was in.

"You forgot some things," she said, holding up a paper bag. "I just thought you'd need them."

He took the bag from her hand and saw a dull razor he thought he'd thrown away, and half a bottle of antacids.

"Good thinking, Lieutenant," he said, his words slurring a little. "Thank you."

Riza's eyebrows came together and she looked at him in the way that made him want to bury his face in the curve of her neck, breathe her in, and forget.

"Colonel..."

The bag fell. He reached for her. She held on to him.

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	2. Impact

**2 – The Effect of Impact on Stationary Objects**

Riza had never wanted to leave work so badly before, but there seemed to be a neverending list of things to do and a constant parade of paperwork that for one reason or another had to stop at her desk before moving on to their next destination. She was mumbling under her breath, pencil tips were breaking underneath her hurried scribbling, and it didn't help that she could feel the curious glances of the other men on her.

"What?" she snapped, glaring when she saw them all staring at her.

"Uh...erm..." Fuery stammered, scratching the back of his head.

"Something bothering you, Lieutenant?" Breda asked.

"No. Why?"

"Because you're about to scratch a hole in your desk with that pencil and you're shooting words at us instead of bullets...PLEASE DON'T REACH FOR YOUR SIDEARM!" Havoc screamed, his hands up.

"Are you telling me what to do, _Second Lieutenant_?" she snarled, but she lifted her hand from her holster.

"No, no," he said, waving his hands in the air. "Not at all, ma'am."

Riza blew an annoyed breath out and stared down at her desk, realizing that she had no idea what it was she'd just signed.

"We still have a few hours to go until quitting time," Breda observed, glancing at the clock.

"And a lot of work to do until then, so I suggest we get back to it," Riza said stiffly.

"Do you need more pencils, Lieutenant?" Havoc asked, holding up a box of pencils like a lion trainer holding up a piece of meat. "I noticed you're running a little low there."

She snatched them from his hand.

"Thank you."

Going back to her work, Riza tried to concentrate on what she was reading, but was very aware now that no one else was working. She fixed her face in the fiercest expression she could muster, but it faltered when she saw the concern on her coworkers'...no, _friends'_ faces.

"What is it you want to know?" she asked quietly.

"How's the Colonel?" Fuery asked softly.

She looked away and tried not to think of the man who'd held her close, who'd woken her up every night for the last week with his screams. Instead, she tried to think of the Colonel who they had followed into the fires of hell and back, the Colonel who'd sit for hours doing absolutely nothing while the rest of them covered for him.

Glancing sideways, Riza took in his empty desk, the corners of her mouth turning down.

"He's recovering," she answered. "He's doing as well as expected."

"What were we expecting?" Havoc asked, arching an eyebrow at her.

"I...he's the Colonel."

"He's also a man," Falman said. "And a man needs time to recover. He needs help to recover from what he's been through."

"He's not ready to see anyone yet," Riza said.

"We're not really good at...nursing," Breda said delicately.

She frowned at him.

"I'm _not _a nurse," she said, remembering her lack of fondness for that occupation. "The Colonel is fine. He'll be fine on his own for...he'll be fine."

"For what?" Havoc prodded.

"I'm sure you have work to do, Lieutenant."

Riza ducked her head and glared at the paper in front of her as if it was at fault for her current mood. To her relief, the others went back to work, at least if the shuffling papers were any indication.

An hour later, her desk was clean and she still had two hours to go until the end of the day. Surprised, Riza looked around to see if she'd missed anything. Havoc raised his head and offered her a smile around his ever-present cigarette.

"Go home, Lieutenant," he said. "You're done for today."

"I don't think so..."

But Falman was already pulling out her chair and Fuery was holding her coat out. Breda opened the door and Havoc grinned at her.

"Tell him we said hi and we miss his asking us for the answers to his crossword puzzles," he said.

Riza started to argue some more, but then she decided there was no use in pretending anymore. Not after all that they've been through. She let Fuery help her with her coat and before she walked past Breda, she turned and offered them all a small smile.

"He'll be happy to hear that," she said quietly. "Thank you."

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Roy was sitting at her kitchen table, almost in the exact same position where she'd left him that morning. Black Hayate was sitting at his feet, fast asleep, and she ignored the almost-empty glass in his hand. Roy was looking somewhere she couldn't see, and he turned his head slowly, too slowly, when the sound of the door closing drew his attention. There was a flatness in his eyes scared her, but it disappeared when he saw it was her and he smiled. 

He needed her so badly and she wasn't going to let him down again.

"Riza," he said hoarsely, sounding as if he'd just woken up. "What are you doing home so early?"

"The men...the work was done and I let everyone go home."

His hand reached for hers as she was holding hers out to be taken, and she let him pull her onto his lap, smiling softly when he kissed her neck.

"I'm glad you're back."

She wrapped her arms around him, pressed his head against her shoulder, and closed her eyes.

"Me, too."


	3. Cold Snap

**3 – Cold Snap **

His hands were cold. His hands had never cold before, but he didn't find the sensation disturbing in the least. His insides were warm, thanks to the brandy he'd been drinking, but for some reason that warmth didn't travel to his hands.

The apartment was quiet, save for some snuffling sounds coming from the general direction of Black Hayate. A glance at the clock told him that Riza wouldn't be home for another three hours. Time crawled by without her and then it stood still when she walked through the door. It was an interesting affect she had on his perceptions that he hadn't noticed before. Or maybe it hadn't happened before all this.

The radio was nothing but background noise and he'd stopped listening to it hours before. She'd left it on, probably in the hope that he would take an interest in what was going on in the outside world, but he only felt tired when he tried.

What was the point?

In front of him, a pair of white gloves sat untouched. He'd wanted to put them on, just to see what they felt like, but he hadn't been able to do more than take them out of the drawer in which he'd kept them and stare at them.

That morning, Riza had asked him to boil water for tea, and the gas stove refused to catch. He'd reached for a pencil and started to trace an array on the counter top, but then he'd remembered...and he'd taken out a box of matches instead. He'd felt her eyes on him when he'd struck the match, but she'd stayed quiet.

If only she'd known that those eyes had always told him more than she ever did.

Alchemy had always defined him, had given him the power to be what he wanted to be even when others told him he couldn't do it. All it took was the snap of his fingers and all arguments were silenced. People knew him as the Flame Alchemist, not Colonel Roy Mustang. Alchemy had been the answer to all his problems and he could find all the answers through alchemy. That was how it was supposed to be. Science would save them. Science would save him.

So much for that idea.

All he had left now were a pair of gloves that he couldn't put on and a pair of hands that felt as if they'd never felt fire before.


End file.
